


Lavender's Seven

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavender Brown has a thing for Weasleys ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavender's Seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvscharlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/gifts).



> All characters are at least 16 for the tamer stuff and 17 for anything more intense. (Above age of consent in UK) No graphic underage included.

Lavender Brown’s quest began innocently enough. At first it was only Ron that she wanted. She was sixteen, he was gangly and adorable, they were both dying for a good snogging partner ... She remembered Ron fondly, all the freckles and fondling-- it was enough to give a girl an obsession.

 

So when shortly after her seventeenth birthday, she stumbled into the Weasley twins bickering good-naturedly over how to increase sales of their Patented Daydream Charms to women, she volunteered to show them exactly what it was that women really wanted. That was one of the more magical nights of her life. Being devoured by two hot, delicious, freckly men who were focused entirely on how they could best pleasure her, obeying her every instruction. (Well, some of her instructions, at least. They had ideas of their own, from which Lavender would never fully recover in the best possible way.) She could still recall the hazy, pleasure-dimmed outline of their identical smirking faces after they’d successfully brought her to orgasm more times in one evening than she would have ever thought humanly possible. She told them that she would remain a willing participant in any future experiments for their adult line, an offer that she sadly never got taken up on due to the shop closing down and the bloody war. She blamed Voldemort for a lot of things, but that one _really_ pissed her off.

 

 

The following year was spent dodging the Carrows. In times of terror, people lash out in various ways. Some run, whether out of fear, instinct, or necessity; that was where they lost Dean. Some keep their heads down and stay under the radar, like Parvati. Some people start fights with anyone and everyone over every anything, which was why Seamus’ face was perpetually blackened for over a year. Some lead and inspire, like Neville, who was their rising star and commander supreme. Some talk back, speak boldly, stare daringly in the face of danger, and somehow survive because of their status or connections; Ginny might have been poor but she had more high-level connections than almost anyone and her pureblood status gave her leniency that Lavender would never receive.

Lavender didn’t have that kind of bravery. She helped ice Seamus’ face while snipping at him for being so careless. (He knew what she meant; they all did.) She hoarded food in a hidden compartment underneath the common room cleaning cupboard, charmed to keep it fresh, so that people wouldn’t go hungry when the Carrows tried to starve them or tortured them through dinner time. She was the one who gave long, loud, bold-sounding tirades in the safety of the common room, insulting their greasy, nasty-tempered Headmaster, mocking Alecto’s pathetic fashion sense and repugnant features, telling horrifying tales of just how bad Amycus Carrow’s personal hygiene really was. It was snarky and petty and made her feel better. It seemed to make everyone else feel better too, and Lavender did have a talent for witty insults.

It was after a very long day, after Neville had gone into hiding, Parvati had been pulled out of school, and Seamus was being tortured in “detention” for the third time that week, that Ginny sat down next to her in the empty room and asked her to tell her something good, something that would make her laugh, just something to take her mind off reality.

Lavender had tried, using her best tired insults to the nasty sector of the teaching staff, but she could tell it wasn’t enough. Ginny was fading and that was somehow more frightening than anything else. The Weasleys were the strong ones, courageous, dauntless, laughing in the face of danger ... and this quiet ghost of the girl she knew and mostly tolerated was scarier than Amycus’s teeth.

That was how Lavender found herself kissing yet another Weasley, this one smaller and softer than the rest. It was warmth and strength and restoration wrapped up in two insurmountably incompatible girls clinging to each other, needing the salve of human touch to mend their breaking hearts and minds. The next day they both moved to the Room of Requirement and found more strength amidst their comrades. They never spoke of it again, but Lavender liked to think that Ginny wouldn’t have made it through that night, that breaking point, without her. Mostly, because Lavender wasn’t sure she would have made it through herself.

 

 

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Lavender stayed in hospital for weeks. There was too much to take in, and she was weaker than she’d ever been. She had survived, though just barely, and had Hermione sodding Granger to thank for it. It was difficult owing her life to the swot who stole her first love out from under her then-pretty nose. It was more difficult looking in the mirror and realizing that the lovely face and perfect breasts she’d taken for granted for so many years were gone, mauled by a dark creature, her body now turned dark and ugly by association. She wouldn’t listen to Seamus, who insisted on visiting her daily for the first week, sometimes bringing Dean. They tried to be cheerful and encouraging, but they were a motley pair-- Dean gaunt and twitchy, Seamus puffy and bruised with broken ribs-- and not as inspiring as they might have hoped.

Her self-pitying reverie was disturbed one day by someone she had never expected and truly barely knew. She stared up in shock when the tall, lithe, impossibly gorgeous ginger man walked through her door. His scars were jagged and covered half his face, but his eyes were shockingly blue and clearer than any she’d ever seen.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” he’d asked in a pleasant voice, as if he were inquiring after the weather.

She had floundered for a moment before snapping back, unleashing her full arsenal of bottled up vitriol upon him. Ten minutes later, her stream of anger slowed and she gestured for him to sit down, although she continued to glare at the smirky bastard. He talked and she ignored, he talked and she pretended not to listen, he talked and she cried. Hot tears coursed down her still-healing face, warm with shame. He gazed into her eyes and she stared back, hoping that they were displaying strength and courage instead of the fear, anger, and self-hatred she was really feeling.

He gave her a little smile, oddly smarmy and comforting at the same time, and kissed her. It wasn’t passionate, but it was warm and reassuring. When he pulled away, she blinked rapidly, taking in his face, scarred and beautiful.

“You’re still gorgeous, you know,” he said in that same conversational tone. “You own the scars. Don’t let them own you.”

Her face must have been a picture of confusion and what-the-hell-just-happened, because he let out a tiny chuckle. Then with a wave and a jaunty eyebrow raise he was gone.

The next day she got out of bed and put on her favorite red lipstick.

 

 

She ran into Percy six months later at the Leaky Cauldron, looking grouchy and maudlin and staring into his whisky. A Weasley in need was near impossible for her to pass up, and she joined him at the bar, listening to him gripe about not being trusted and blame himself for his past mistakes. One look into his lost amber-coloured eyes and she was lost herself. Her high heeled feet whispered against his calf and her fingers toyed with the umbrella on her drink and every so often tip-toed over to Percy’s hands, clean, neat, tidy, twitching.

It was fascinating and exhilarating to watch as his eyes oh-so-slowly shift from a nearly golden amber to dark, dark brown. She was doing this to him, turning him on, making him _want_. Her breath came quicker and she felt his gaze on her chest, watching it rise with every heady inhale.

Prim and proper Percy vanished, replaced by someone confident, cocky. He slid a handful of Sickles onto the bar, more than enough to cover their drinks, and whisked her off the stool, twirling her around, making her heart pound faster and faster then _pop_ , they appeared in an immaculately tidy foyer. Lavender’s high heels clicked loudly against the hardwood floor, and she bit her lip in anticipation as he gave her the hottest stare she’d ever received. She nodded over and over, yes, yes, _yes_ , and then he pounced, the gentleman in him waiting for that clear green light.

He was nothing like she would have expected. Every touch, every movement was saturated with passion and fun. She was twirled and tackled and tickled until she was giggling, until her giggles turned to gasps to whimpers to screams, every centimeter of her body pulsing and tingling. Over and over, increasingly erotic with every new move. She would never have imagined Percy to be so incredibly, surprisingly, delightfully kinky.

They shared an entire weekend together before parting quietly, amicably, inevitably. It was a release they both needed and neither would ever forget.

 

 

It was two years later that she met Charlie at a party. Over the years she’d had her fair share of sexy gingers, but they were never quite up to snuff and she quickly grew bored. When she met Charlie, she had high hopes, and when she found out that he was the wayward Weasley who was only back in England for the week, she Apparated him home and disrobed him immediately. She didn’t like wasting valuable time, and he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

She spent the whole week in bed with him, licking over the shifting patterns of his tattoos and learning all the ways to make his pale skin flush pink with pleasure. He returned the focus in spades, exploring every inch of her body. Entranced by her scars, he seemed to lavish his attentions on them, licking, nibbling, rubbing. She had never felt so sexy before, so secure in her own appearance, even before her scars.

Easy to talk to, Charlie was a breath of fresh air. He made her laugh more than she could ever remember laughing and comforted her when she woke up from a now-rare flashback dream of Greyback’s attack. Lavender could not help but think that he was perhaps the most perfect man in existence. He cooked, he kept a tidy house, he cracked jokes, he laughed loudly and genuinely at her jokes, he was comfortable having serious conversations, he wrapped those incredible muscular arms around her and made her tingle with warmth and want from her head to the very tips of her painted toes.

He stayed longer than he’d planned, a week stretching into a fortnight into almost a month. They fought like animals, loud and fierce, full of fire and passion, and they put just as much passion into each other, making love with reckless abandon. Often, loudly, quietly, hard, fast, slow, sweet, again and again. They moved together, sensing each other, like they were made to be doing this together.

Lavender was terrified of how intensely she felt, of what they had, of how deeply she wanted it. Was she willing to give up her life here and move to a dusty middle-of-nowhere non-town in Romania? Would he even want her there?

The rows grew louder and more frequent, and the only thing that made the horrific fights tolerable was the mind-numbing make-up sex. Finally, in the middle of a row of monstrous proportions, when both of them were red-faced with drawn eyebrows and clenched fists, Lavender broke.

“Then stay, just stay. Don’t leave, don’t blame all this confusion on me or work or your family. If you want to be with me, then stay here and promise to _be_ with me or get the hell out of my flat. I’m sick of this!”

“Fine, I will!” he shouted back, his voice still raised as if his vocal cords hadn’t caught up with his brain.

“What?” she said, staring at him dumbly. A instantaneous yes was the furthest thing from what she had expected. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. You asked for it, Brown. You’re stuck with me. Hope you like Weasleys …”

She just grinned. He had no idea. Charlie Weasley was glorious and perfect and the best of them all, which was saying a _lot_. And no one knew better than Lavender Brown.


End file.
